


Horseplay

by eris_of_imladris, Unlos



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Horse Shenanigans, Horses, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 05:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20270386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris_of_imladris/pseuds/eris_of_imladris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlos/pseuds/Unlos
Summary: Before Éomer and Lothíriel were married, they were friends - and riders of particularly ornery horses.Based on Unlos's gorgeous art for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2019!





	1. Chapter 1

All Éomer needed to hear was that Firefoot was being antagonized by an unfamiliar horse, and he handed back his sister’s baby as gently as he could before making his way out to the stables. Emyn Arnen’s stables were still so new (like the baby who felt more like a loud loaf of bread in his arms than a child) that an angry warhorse could tear down one of the walls.

With the doors open, it was easy to see Firefoot, large and gray and imposing, snorting at a smaller but still confident brown horse with an almost-black mane who was halfway out of a stall. It took Éomer another moment to notice that he was not the only person there. A young woman, Gondorian from the color of her hair, was making her way between the two horses.

Warnings sprang into his mind. Éowyn told him that some Gondorian women were thought to be too delicate to ride a horse, and most who did had gentle mares. He’d heard jokes that women like that would swoon just to see Firefoot. Was this woman one of these? Just as he was about to run over and try to intercept, he noticed the heads of both horses face the woman as she spoke to them. Then she shot the brown one an amused glare as Éomer came to a sudden realization.

She was lecturing the horse.

Not in the way some of his riders described their nagging wives, their voices shrill and angry. Not even like a too-harsh trainer trying to curb a horse’s will with stern words in a low tone. She sounded more like the old cook in Edoras chiding him if she found his hands in the pie again - fondly frustrated.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t own the entire world?” she asked, reaching up and stroking the horse’s nose, guiding the snorting animal away from Firefoot before she noticed Éomer.

“Is he yours? I’m sorry,” she inclined her head towards Firefoot as she reached a hand towards the brown horse’s mane. “He can never keep his nose out of trouble, especially when we’re not at home.”

The “he” was nearly as surprising to Éomer as the confidence the woman displayed around the horses. A quick look confirmed that the brown horse was in fact a stallion, and one with a naughty streak, at that. Clearly, there were some women in Gondor who didn’t quite fit into the jokes he heard.

She gently nudged the brown stallion’s head away from Firefoot, trying to get him to move back into the stall. “Don’t be rude to the horses of Rohan. They saved us in the war,” the woman muttered, then shook her head when the stallion snorted in her face. “Why do I even try?” she asked, but when she turned back to him, she had a bright smile on her face.

“I’m sure the horses of your land are far better behaved,” she said, looking at Firefoot curiously.

“Some of them,” he replied, eyeing his own stallion with a familiar look.

She laughed. “So yours is also a handful?”

“He may have played a part in what transpired here,” he replied, a smile breaking across his face.

“Perhaps,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye. “But I wouldn’t put it on him entirely. Pînaras has no manners.”

“An interesting name,” Éomer commented, leaning on the wooden post by the stall door.

“It means ‘little deer,’” the woman replied.

Éomer had never seen anything look less like a little deer than the stallion who plopped his head on the woman’s shoulder with a huff, seemingly resigned to his fate.

“He was little at one point, and my father refused to see that he was a good match for me. I tried to convince him that he’d be gentle, and the name stuck - not that he looks much like his namesake anymore.”

Given his coloring, the horse probably had looked like a fawn when he was born, with spindly legs and an ever-snuffling nose. Now, however, he looked more like a sturdy wall. A wall that was currently trying not-so-subtly to shove the stranger’s arm out of the stall that wasn’t even his.

“He’s certainly more headstrong than the average deer,” Éomer said as he pulled his hand back, taking the opportunity to look more closely at the stallion. His coat looked smooth and shiny, the rich dark coloration even except for a slim scar on his right side. He stood in a proud stance, even weight on each hoof. A very well-tended horse.

The woman laughed. A beautiful laugh, more genuine than many Gondorians cared to be around him. Just another price he’d paid since becoming king of Rohan, but this woman didn’t seem to be the type to fall silent when he walked into the room for no reason at all. It was refreshing, to be honest, even if he was supposed to be inside dealing with his new niece.

“Let’s just say my father thinks his temper is not quite what he’d hoped for,” the woman said, “but it did serve him well in the war.”

“You rode in the war?”

“Not me,” she said, “but my brother. His horse was killed in an earlier skirmish, so when it came time to ride to Minas Tirith, he needed Pînaras.” A dark look passed over her eyes. Not uncommon when these sorts of memories surfaced - he’d thought of Éowyn, briefly, her hair spread like a golden halo in the dirt - but somehow he hadn’t expected that reaction to come from her. Not that he knew much of her. Just that she was a good horsewoman and witty and had a beautiful smile.

“I hope your brother is well,” was all Éomer knew to say as her fingers found their way to the well-tended but still visible scar on the horse’s flank.

“He is,” she replied. “All three of them, in fact. I’m sure they’ll be bothering you and the other soldiers for races when everyone’s met the baby.” She paused. “Not that Pînaras will behave for Erchirion if I’m around.”

“My sister is the only other person who Firefoot tolerates, and even then he sometimes tries to bite her hair,” Éomer replied, relieved that she had addressed him as a soldier in the king’s retinue. True, he hadn’t brought a large party and his identity couldn’t remain a secret for long, but this felt good. Uncomplicated. It cut a swath through the worries lingering in the back of his mind even after he knew that Éowyn hadn’t died in childbirth like his aunt and Rohan would be safe long enough for him to visit.

“Why does that sound familiar?” the woman addressed her horse as she fished an apple out of the bag slung over her shoulder. The stallion nosed at the apple she held up before taking a big bite.

Silence fell between the pair as she offered Éomer an apple, which Firefoot took as eagerly as the other stallion. Éomer wondered briefly if he should be saying something more, but thankfully, this wasn’t the sort of situation where he had to be polite even if that meant talking about the fact that it was sunny yet again.

What sort of situation was this anyway? He wondered as Firefoot chomped his snack. Here he was in the barn with someone he never met, feeding his horse an apple she’d given him, and he didn’t even know her name. Quite the opposite of how he’d expected to find himself, considering Gondor’s more stringent standards.

Belatedly, Éomer realized that Firefoot was nosing at his hand, looking for more to eat, and the woman was talking to him. Something about horses? “What?”

“Oh, if you don’t have the time that’s perfectly fine,” she said, a slight flush working its way through her cheeks.

“I didn’t quite hear what you said,” Éomer admitted.

“I was saying that I think Pînaras could use some exercise before he knocks down the stall door entirely,” she said, slightly sheepish. “I offered to show you the path, if your horse would like to ride too.”

It didn’t take long for Éomer to agree. True, he was there for a different purpose, but what was the harm in a short afternoon ride? Not to mention, his men would probably need something more entertaining than a baby to keep them from discovering (or perhaps creating) unsavory parts of his sister’s home.

“Firefoot and I will gladly join you,” Éomer said, reaching for the latch that kept his horse inside a cleanly kept stall.

“Firefoot? That’s a lovely name,” said the woman as she prepared her horse’s saddle. Firefoot didn’t need one for a ride like this - it wasn’t like he’d need the precision control necessary in battle - but he noticed that even though her horse huffed at her, he stood still to accept the saddle and bridle, and sooner than he expected, she was ready.

Éomer led Firefoot out, noticing that his stallion seemed better-behaved than usual. He chuckled at the thought that his horse might be trying to show off for the sake of the other, who was also walking by his mistress’s side. Outside smelled fresh and the air was warm but not stifling - perfect for a ride. He mounted Firefoot with the ease of expertise, only mildly surprised that the woman got atop her horse only slightly after.

“These woods are being cleared for farmland, so the paths on the east might be good to take,” she said, urging her horse forward. His gait was fast but even, and although Firefoot might be able to go quicker, he seemed content to simply be outside. The journey from Rohan had been taxing, after all - he’d ridden Firefoot like the world depended on it when he heard the news - but it was still good to make sure the war-horse got exercise.

She truly was an experienced rider. Éomer realized this quickly as she navigated her horse, stubborn as he was, around the twists and turns of the new paths, occasionally making small jumps over fallen branches and logs. The smile on her face was radiant, and as she told him about the path, he realized how much effort she had put into learning Emyn Arnen, from the smallest plots of land to the main hall that was still under construction in some parts.

Just listening to her was relaxing, and before long, both he and the stranger who was full of contradictions - clearly not local, but cared about the area; a horsewoman of Gondor whose skills could rival the women from his country - were going even faster in both words and hoofbeats.

The path she had chosen turned at a creek, and after giving the horses time to drink - and having more time to converse with the young woman - they returned back as the sun was starting to descend.

She dismounted as easily as Éomer, swept her tangled hair out of her eyes, and smiled. “I think I have to go make myself presentable before seeing the baby again, or Faramir will tease me.” She didn’t look too upset to be teased, but her face changed a little at the expression he was probably making.

She’d mentioned Faramir by name, not title. And she was definitely Gondorian. Which meant that she was one of the higher-ranking ladies from Dol Amroth, maybe even Imrahil’s daughter, who he’d heard too much about from advisors anxious that his only heir was his infant niece.

“Yes, that sounds wise. I doubt my sister wants me to make her baby smell like horses,” he blurted out before he could think of trying to learn more - like her name - without dropping the weight of his title on her.

“Your sister?” The woman turned to look at Éomer again, realization dawning.

“Yes,” Éomer confessed. “Éowyn is my sister.”

“Which makes you…” Éomer hated to watch as a blush made its way across her face. This was exactly what he’d tried to avoid, and yet, even with someone who seemed so comfortable around him…

“I really do appreciate you showing me the new paths,” he said. “And Pînaras is a fine stallion.” High praise from him, but she might not know that. Pity that she might never get to know that, thanks to the title he treated with respect but never wanted.

Silence overtook the pair again, somehow more strained even after the ride they took and the easy conversations they shared. “It was nice to meet you, Your Majesty,” she eventually said.

“Éomer,” he replied.

“Éomer,” she echoed. “I’m Lothíriel.”

At least she’d said her name instead of shying away completely - and the name was definitely familiar. Imrahil’s daughter. And yet, completely not what he had expected. “I hope to see you again, Lothíriel.”

“Likewise,” she said, soon making her way back to the main hall. Éomer stayed for a short while, carefully not watching her retreat as he found a brush and tended to Firefoot’s coat. The stallion seemed to almost roll his eyes when Éomer looked at Pînaras, again assessing his impressive condition.

Éomer was tempted to stay longer, but he knew that if there was any chance of speaking to her again, a real conversation, he’d have to go back to the halls. With one last backwards glance, he almost hoped the horses would fight again.


	2. Chapter 2

A storm was coming in, Lothíriel knew as she watched the dark clouds roll in over the water and heard the waves churn against the shore, but Pînaras needed exercise nonetheless. At least that was what she told herself as she donned a thin gown, not even bothering with shoes, and headed to the stables.

It somehow always felt more relaxing to ride than sit inside and think, although she soon fell prey to the comfort of the swaying beat of Pînaras’s hooves and her thoughts trended in an all-too-familiar direction.

Éomer’s last letter had arrived only a week before, and unlike the ones where he detailed life in Rohan, this one related to travel. To Dol Amroth. Éowyn and Faramir and their little girl were not visiting, and there was no deficiency in his trade agreements with her father that would compel him to come. The only thing she could think of was, well, herself.

The thought of him traveling here to see her was expected and strange at once. They’d been writing to each other for months now, since they went their separate ways from Emyn Arnen. Seasons had passed since then, so much had changed - and the same was true for him, considering the complications of ruling that he detailed in his letters - but he was always the same. Somehow, this was comforting.

And yet, it always felt so strange when she was around a single man. She was too aware of everything she was allowed or supposed to do that her own feelings seemed unimportant. Sure, some of the pressure had been taken away at the end of the war when Gondor had its own king (and queen, thankfully, quickly enough that no one even brought up the idea of her filling that role), but the fact still remained that she was the only daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. What made it even harder was that her shrewd negotiator of a father was willing to let Elphir - his heir - marry a woman of his own choice, meaning that she was also expected to fall in love.

How was she supposed to fall in love, she wondered as Pînaras kicked up more clumps of sand behind him, if all the interactions she had with men were so dependent on status and rank that neither of them knew what to say? 

That problem, thankfully, hadn’t existed with Éomer - mostly thanks to her horse. Pînaras the matchmaker had all but ensured that she would treat the handler of the horse he antagonized as a fellow rider, rather than follow the rules of propriety she’d grown up with. All of that had flown out the window as soon as he talked to her, anyway - he was just so straightforward and honest, and their conversation was unhalting in the stable and their meetings later that week and in the veritable barrage of letters that followed as soon as he rode north and she followed her family home to the sea, to their daily lives with so much less going on than in Éomer’s war-torn country.

She’d had plenty of time to think about him, about what she wanted. She knew there was a price to marrying him, even beyond moving away from her family and the only home she had ever known. There would be duties to learn, complicated politics, a new language. She knew enough of Rohan’s history to know their last Gondorian queen was not beloved by the people. And even more than that, she knew the story of another princess of Dol Amroth: her aunt Finduilas, Faramir’s mother, beloved but wilting away from the sea she loved.

She would have sacrifices to make, if he was truly coming to ask for her hand in marriage. If she accepted, she had a new world to learn, new standards and ways of life, the intricacies of what Éomer described in his letters. And there would need to be children, at least one, and she would need to teach a son how to rule a country she knew so little of, and she would also need to be a mother and a wife and a queen all at once, a thought that sometimes felt so overwhelming she might just wilt away like her aunt.

But sometimes she felt like she would wilt without his letters.

That was the only thing that made sense to her. She cared for him, regardless of everything else going on. His letters made her smile, no matter what else was happening. And she wanted to see him because he made this whirlwind in her head slow until she could breathe again. There would be so much, she thought when she contemplated accepting an offer of marriage. But she would also have him.

She smiled even as Pînaras’s thick mane blew back with another gust of wind, tossing horse hair into her face. He knew the path, taking her alongside the beach as she brushed his hair away from her eyes. Was there something out there? It almost looked like - it was too early, far too early, but it almost looked like there was another horse, gray, with little specks of white on his back like the fine mist rising from the sea as each new wave crashed. Or was it the raindrops starting to fall from the heavy clouds?

She squinted, trying to see farther out as she sat up just a little. Pînaras slowed slightly, enough for her to see more clearly that there was in fact someone else on her path. Someone who she knew very well.

She hadn’t thought this out. She was wearing too flimsy of an outfit and no shoes at all; the bottoms of her feet were already starting to form calluses from rubbing against the stirrups. Not to mention her hair was a cloud around her, probably filled with the sand that had been blowing into her face almost the entire time. It probably looked as coarse as Pînaras’s mane.

But somehow that didn’t matter as she got closer, as she saw that his hair looked no more organized than hers, and his eyes were bright as the smile on his face. She thought she should do something - anything - before he got closer, but soon she was nearly face-to-face with the man who she’d been confusing herself about for quite some time.

“I hadn’t expected a welcome like this,” Éomer said, and what felt like a thousand thoughts tumbled through Lothíriel’s head. Did he mean he’d expected more? Did he disapprove of what she wore, even though he didn’t seem to care about such things? What sort of welcome did he want? Had she failed some all-important test?

The smile on his face changed everything. Éomer. _It’s Éomer_, Lothíriel thought to herself. _There are no tests here._

Comfort spread through her as her face relaxed into a smile. “I wanted to be the first to greet you.”

“And I hoped to greet you, Lothíriel,” he replied, the sound of her name on his lips making her feel even more sure. “I’d hoped to speak to you before reaching Dol Amroth proper.”

Before he would have to greet her father, her brothers, and their ten thousand expectations. And that was before her aunt Ivriniel showed up with a million more, considering what she muttered to herself when she saw Lothíriel reading Éomer’s letters. Once upon a time, she’d felt comforted by those expectations, by the knowledge that she wouldn’t be rushed into marriage. Now, there were times when she wished it was otherwise, and she could simply act.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you,” she said honestly. This was a new world to her, figuring out how to treat him when she liked him and he liked her back, not one of the harmless games of flirtation she’d tried when she was younger. Even younger than she was now. She suddenly felt like a child at play, blushing deeply.

“I have been looking forward to seeing you as well,” Éomer replied, “and learning more about what you’ve told me in your letters.”

She’d told him everything some weeks, when she needed someone who would understand what it was like to rebuild after war. Sometimes, she told him the silly things, family squabbles and what was for dinner and the little noises her brother Elphir’s son made as he learned to speak. But sometimes she felt as though she was first learning how to speak, when she thought of the fact that he was a king and she was a princess and there would be negotiations, more than they could talk out by the sea as the rain intensified.

It was easier to talk in hoofbeats - her directing Pînaras to return home as the rain pattered into the sand, Éomer and Firefoot following, trusting. It was so easy. No negotiations there. Just simple trust and - lightning. She squeezed her legs tighter around Pînaras, urging him to go faster. He couldn’t match the speed of a horse like Firefoot, but he had little desire to stay out in the storm, so he was soon raising clumps of wet sand in his wake as he thundered across the beach.

They were drenched by the time they got back, Lothíriel’s hair plastered to her face almost to the point that she couldn’t see. She dismounted and her feet squelched as they landed in a mud puddle outside of the stables that had been so neatly prepared for the king’s horses, and those of his retinue.

“Pînaras welcomes you to his stables,” she announced as dignified as she could with her dress clinging to her like a sweaty nightdress.

“Are you sure he welcomes us? He was not quite so welcoming in Ithilien,” Éomer laughed, a rich sound that made Éowyn look over in surprise when they had only just met.

“I have told him that the horse of a dear friend is staying here, and he is going to behave.” Pînaras didn’t look so eager to follow those orders - in fact, he was still staring at Lothíriel as if she was crazy for taking him out in the rain as she tried to dry off his soaking coat - but he allowed Éomer to pass and tend to his own horse.

After a brief moment of silence where Lothíriel wondered what to say next, Éomer spoke up. “I am glad to hear you think of me as a dear friend.”

“I do,” Lothíriel said honestly. “I love your letters. I love learning more about Rohan and everything you do, and…” She stopped suddenly, wondering if her runaway mouth was about to tell him she loved him, too.

“There’s no need to rush things,” Éomer said softly, clicking the gate shut behind him. “I am prepared to stay for a short while.”

“To see the sights?” Lothíriel joked, lamely gesturing at the storm outside.

“Hopefully nicer sights than that,” Éomer replied.

“You have a country to run.” That guilt bothered her too, that she was taking him away from Rohan when the country so clearly needed him, even if he couldn’t always see it.

“And I am also a person.” It was strange to hear those words from his mouth, as if he’d pulled them straight out of her head. Aside from her thoughts of his duties and concerns, she was thrilled to hear he was coming. Maybe she didn’t need to be caught in that endless cycle of worry. Maybe she could just stop thinking, for just a moment...

“I like the person the most,” she said, muffling her thought of how stupid that sounded and leaning in - 

It felt strange, at first. She didn’t know what to do with her lips, whether she should try to stand on her toes to seem taller, whether she should hold onto his arms or the stable or the horse behind her who was most definitely watching her kiss Éomer in the stables like some kind of - 

It was another exercise in trust to follow him. He deepened the kiss, and she followed, somewhat surprised but enthusiastic. A tide of feelings washed over her as the sea roared and a distant bell clanged and Lothíriel returned to what she was taught to be.

“I should put on something more... decent,” Lothíriel said, reluctantly pulling away, looking down at her wet dress and shaking her head lightly. “To welcome you and your retinue properly.”

“Of course,” Éomer nodded. “I should go find my men again. Some of them might think I was swept off to sea by a mermaid on a cantankerous steed.”

“Those are fighting words,” Lothíriel said.

“I shall have to apologize to Dol Amroth for the grave insult.”

There was more she could say, more she could do. She should have things to say prepared for a situation like this, things she’d been taught to say to make a man like or respect her. But this was no ordinary man. Around him, Lothíriel could just laugh and dart away, the smile clinging to her face as she allowed herself to simply feel the happiness of seeing the man she loved.


	3. Chapter 3

The wedding bore many faces: tears of joy from the family, smiles of relief from the soldiers and councilors, the solemn look on the king’s great warhorse as he stood proudly by the steps to the hall, and the glowering of the stallion beside him, whose dark mane was woven with colorful summer flowers.

“It’s not that bad, Pînaras,” Lothíriel said as she affectionately patted his neck. She was completely unsurprised, however, when she found a few brief moments away from the festivities to ride him properly, and he directed her under a tree whose branches were too tall to scratch him, but she wound up with a face full of leaves and a laughing husband.

“It seems someone thinks you needed more decoration,” Éomer said. “The crown must not be enough.”

“He has exacting standards,” said Lothíriel, who still felt more comfortable with leaves in her hair than the ornate circlet that apparently hadn’t been worn since before Éomer was born.

“As he should,” Éomer replied. “He is now the horse of the Queen of Rohan.”

She chuckled a little, nervously. There was more of a ceremony to get back to later on, more of the pomp she should have been used to but felt so strange in this new environment. Riding Pînaras felt more comfortable, like she was back in Dol Amroth as the formal courtship began and through all the negotiations and everything that followed, or perhaps even on the great journey to Edoras where she’d ridden as much as Pînaras would tolerate, together absorbing everything they could of their new home.

The sun rose higher in the sky and the plains stretched out before her, unimaginably beautiful, rolling like the sea as the grass waved in the wind. Leaves flew out of her hair as she followed Éomer, first to the banks of a cool and refreshing river, then back a different way than they came, passing trees with ripe, hanging fruits.

“This way,” he directed her towards the end, not heading to the table where she handed Pînaras off to a groom every other time she’d taken him out. When the wedding was over, of course, she’d have more time to take care of him herself, whisper sweet nothings into his mane as long as he’d let her brush him.

Éomer turned left, dismounting in front of what looked like a brand-new stable. The wood still smelled fresh, the smell both pleasing and confusing her.

Lothíriel dismounted, following Éomer’s large strides as he opened the door and then, surprisingly, turned away from her to face Pînaras.

“This, good sir, is for you,” Éomer said, sweeping his arm out at the large, clean stall with fresh hay.

“Just for Pînaras?” she asked as the horse looked around, thankfully not snorting in the face of this generous gift.

“He needs his own space,” Éomer explained. “I have seen what happens when he has to share.”

“A little too close for comfort, I’m sure,” Lothíriel blushed. “I still can’t believe he tried to go for Firefoot, of all the horses he could have chosen…”

“I am very lucky that he did,” Éomer said seriously, leaning over to kiss her. Just like when they were formally wedded in the great hall, she felt a strange sense of exhilaration.

When he pulled away, Lothíriel tried to catch her breath. “Why did you do all this for him? I’m sure you know how to train him better than I have.”

“I want him to feel at home here,” Éomer said. And you, Lothíriel heard in the way he looked at her, confident yet cautious. “And I won’t be training him, not unless you want me to. I like my new horse-in-law just as he is.”

A small snort escaped from Lothíriel’s mouth. Horse-in-law was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, but it also masked a true appreciation for Lothíriel and her ornery horse, just as they were. No need to change anything, whatever anyone had said. It was so simple a statement, yet so complex that she had to take a moment to look around the new stable again, noting the carvings that spelled out her horse’s name above the stall gate. “It’s beautiful. I’m sure he loves it.”

And I love you.

She had always hoped for the sort of husband who would do things simply to please her, not expensive but truly heartfelt. The fact that he included Pînaras made her smile even wider, pushing aside her nerves. Yes, she was now the Queen of Rohan, a title that felt unprecedented for most of the people living there. Yes, the war was not that far behind, and tomorrow, her work would begin, and she would need to learn so much she never even thought of and there would doubtlessly be mistakes.

But she would have allies along the way, most importantly the husband who she loved and the horse who she’d cared for since he was just a small foal. Just like the older women said she needed on her wedding day - friendships both old and new.

“Shall we return?” Éomer asked, holding the door open for her. “There are more things to do before we can truly celebrate.” He looked slightly sheepish.

“Of course,” Lothíriel said, turning back to take a last look at her horse in his new home before leaving.

She didn’t know if it was the foresight rumored to have passed to her aunt Finduilas, or simply the wishes of a new bride, but she could see little fingers of children, some tow-headed and others looking like miniature versions of her father, grabbing for the latch, using every bit of their coordination to release the stallion with a little gray patch on his muzzle that looked like a distinguished beard, prancing out past them as their voices clamored.

“What’s that smile for?” Éomer teased as they made their way back.

“You,” Lothíriel said simply. “Us.” Belatedly, she heard a snort from inside the new stable. “And Pînaras, for bringing us together.” Climbing up the steps of Meduseld to the clamor of family and friends, she couldn’t help but rejoice at her great fortune to have such an ill-mannered horse.


End file.
